


let me put on a show for you, daddy

by aghamora



Series: Flaurel Ficlets [23]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:44:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5073151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aghamora/pseuds/aghamora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Laurel's turn to leave Frank hanging.</p><p>Set post 2x02.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me put on a show for you, daddy

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompts: 'spicing things up in the bedroom' and 'flaurel and the daddy kink.' 
> 
> After reading: go to confession. Trust me, you'll need it.

_1 New Message From: Laurel_

- _I’m waiting for you at your place_

As soon as Frank gets the message, he frowns.

It’s late Monday night, and he’s at the office, running on caffeine, sorting through boring-ass precedent after boring-ass precedent, and trying to find one that even remotely pertains to their case. But his mind has been wandering all day – because of Laurel, for the most part; Laurel, in a way-too-short skirt that he’s pretty sure she’d chosen just to exact revenge on him after he’d tossed her out of his apartment Friday.

She’d left two hours ago, and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about her since. It’s becoming a real problem, at this point – and after that text, all his focus has pretty much gone out the window.

Well, Frank decides, he’s still going to play hard to get. He has enough self-control to keep himself from giving in that easily, at least, although the thought of Laurel waiting for him at his apartment,  _lusting_  after him, wet for him-

- _What part of ‘closed for business’ didn’t you understand?_

She doesn’t respond for a moment, and he sets his phone back down, triumphant – that is, until it buzzes again a moment later.

- _I’m keeping your bed warm for you_

He swallows heavily at that. She’s making it really damn hard to stick to his guns on this whole ‘get to know me’ thing.

- _If you’re trying to get me to put out, you’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that_

- _I’m not trying to get you to put out. I just want to show you something_

Well, he’s nothing if not intrigued –  _really_ intrigued. And yeah, he’d told Laurel he was off limits to her until she made some effort to get to know him, but the prospect of seeing her, and teasing her, and talking dirty to her until she’s gasping and squirming after his every word like he had before… It’s enticing. Not to mention far more appealing than the prospect of sitting here alone for two more hours, poring over paperwork until his eyes burn.

So he grabs his suit jacket and briefcase, heading out the front door and locking it behind him. He doesn’t text Laurel; clearly, it’s a game she wants to play tonight, and so he’s going to keep her on her toes. Keep her waiting. _Wanting_. It’s all it’s ever been between them – a game.

And he wants more than a game, of course, but tonight he’s more than ready for one more round.

Frank starts his car, and a minute after he pulls out onto the street, his phone lights up in the cup holder between the seats where he’d placed it. He grabs it and stares at the message on the lockscreen – from Laurel, of course.  

- _Getting close?_

Frank chuckles. Someone’s impatient tonight.

- _Who says I’m coming?_

- _You are_

- _Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. But you know, if I die while texting and driving, you’re never gonna get what you’re jonesing for_

Laurel doesn’t answer. He smirks, and sets the phone back down, driving until he reaches his building and stepping out of the car. He’s cool, calm, collected; ready to be in control of the situation, of course, but he can’t ignore the clamminess of his palms, the slight twist in his stomach from the anticipation of seeing Laurel.

No.  _Calm. Control. Stay in control._

Frank ascends the stairs and unlocks his door, and the moment he steps inside his apartment, he has the feeling something is amiss. Off. Like this game isn’t going to be nearly as typical as it usually is tonight.

The room is dark and still, illuminated faintly by the moonlight. Laurel’s coat and shoes are lying on the floor in front of the door, thrown aside carelessly. A few feet away is her blouse, and a foot further her skirt and tights. It’s not like her to toss her clothes around haphazardly – no, this looks haphazard, but it’s planned, down to the inch. She knows what she’s doing. She thinks she knows how to get him.

However, he just glances at them, amused, and steps over them to hang up his own coat and take off his shoes. Laurel’s nowhere to be seen – or heard – in the living room or kitchen, giving him a pretty damn good idea of where she must be.

 _I’m keeping your bed warm for you_ , she’d said, and so, like a heat-seeking missile, Frank goes for the bedroom.

Her bra lies in the hallway, and her panties near the bedroom door, hot pink lace pooling on the carpet. He snatches them up and breathes in the smell of her – musky, mouth-watering, making his blood rush red hot in his veins. It’s an instinct, the reaction he has to her scent. In hindsight, maybe coming here was not the best thing in the world for his self-control, but it’s too late to turn back now.

Bunching her panties in his fist, he steps in front of the bedroom door, and peers inside – and the instant he does, Frank freezes.  

Laurel is there, laid out on his bed without a scrap of clothing on her, legs spread wantonly,  _displaying_  herself. One hand is on her breast, caressing the nipple, and the other is between her legs, stroking and rubbing and moving apart her folds so he can see her swollen clit. Her fingers are coated in pearly beads of wetness, slick and gleaming in the moonlight. She looks like an erotic painting: lip bitten, eyes squeezed shut as she writhes at the touch of her own fingers.

Even from a distance, he can see she’s sopping wet, so wet she’s started to spill onto his sheets. Clearly, she’s been at this for a while.

It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his _life_ , and Laurel looks like she doesn’t even know he’s there. But she does. She absolutely fucking does, and she’s putting on a show for him, fucking herself with her fingers, whimpering softly as her hips roll. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to not just drop his pants and fuck her through the mattress right this instant.

His grip on her underwear slackens. They fall to the floor, forgotten.

Her eyes open just then, and she appraises Frank for a moment in silence, still stroking herself lazily, before biting her lip and opening her mouth to greet him, in a voice higher-pitched and breathier than usual.

“Hi, daddy.”

Oh  _fuck_.

The word catches Frank off guard, like a veritable kick in the stomach. Just watching her, and – God, now  _this_ … He’s hard almost instantly. All the blood in his body rushes to his cock in approximately 0.2 seconds, making his head spin.

She’s going to give him a legitimate fucking heart attack.

It takes him a minute to find his voice, and by then his cock is aching and straining against his slacks almost painfully, begging for the touch of his hand, her hand,  _any_  hand. There’s no flicker of uncertainty in Laurel’s eyes, no doubt that he’ll be disgusted by that word.  _Daddy_. Fucking  _Christ_ , that should not have turned him so much. It blindsides him, makes him downright dizzy with arousal.

Where the hell has  _this_ side of Laurel been all along?

“What’re you doin’?” he manages to ask, somewhat steadily.

Laurel smiles, as if realizing that he’s completely and totally under her control, now – which he is. There’s no doubt about it; the sight of her alone was enough to get him.

“What does it look like?” she asks, her voice soft as a whisper, her eyes dancing with girlish mischief.

Frank’s tongue feels cold and clumsy in his mouth. He’s probably half-forgotten how to speak English, at this point. All he can do is watch her, mesmerized, as she slips two fingers inside herself and gasps, her body rising off the bed slightly. He’s sure by now she’s noticed how hard he is; his erection presses against his slacks, painfully obvious, and it’s driving her on, making her more eager to toy with him.

“I want you to watch.” She bites her lip and looks up at him, grabbing one of her breasts and massaging it in time with the strokes of her fingers. Then, she chuckles, and adds as if in an afterthought. “ _Daddy_.”

His mouth is dry. Heart beating like a jackhammer. All he can hear is the sound of the blood pumping in his ears, and he feels almost crazy with lust, like a madman. Still, he can’t take even one step toward her.

“How long you been here?” he finally manages.

“Long enough,” is all Laurel says, but that’s all she needs to say. He knows the rest:  _long enough to get myself wet. Long enough to be drenched. Soaked. For you._

As if in a trance, he walks over to the bed, taking a seat next to Laurel and angling himself toward her to afford him the whole, delicious view of her naked body, writhing and squirming, fingers still sliding in and out of her shaven cunt. It’s torture. Horrible, awful, inhumane, should-probably-be-barred-by-the-fucking-U.N. torture.

He leans in close to her, growling in her ear, “What the  _fuck_ are you doing, Laurel?”

Laurel doesn’t flinch, or show even a moment’s worth of fear. She simply stares back unabashed, and gives him a lazy little grin that just barely peaks the corners of her lips upward.

“I’m doing what you wouldn’t do,” she purrs. “I did this, that night when you wouldn’t touch me, daddy. And I know it was bad, but… it felt so good.”

 _Daddy._ God, there it is again; every time without fail it makes him lightheaded. She’s playing a role. Feigning innocence, like a good girl, virginal and pure, while touching herself and looking anything but. He’d never thought anything could ever turn him on so much, regardless of how  _fucked up_  it is.

So he reaches out to touch her. Of course he does – what choice does he have? He isn’t in control of his body, his brain, and his cock is like a snake in his slacks, hissing at him to be freed. Frank doesn’t know what he’s trying to do, really; crawl atop her, maybe, or flip her around onto her hands and knees so he can mount her from behind and fuck her until she screams – but she pushes his hands away, and scowls so deeply that it catches him off guard.

“No,” she says, firmly. “You can look. But you can’t touch.”

 _Hell_.

He’d never thought four words could cause him so much physical pain, but he doesn’t dare disobey. She has this power over him, somehow, when she isn’t even really doing anything. He could overpower her easily, sure – but he won’t. She can control him just by looking at him.

He just stares at her stupidly for a moment, cock throbbing, body humming with electricity. Her little cries are escalating in pitch and frequency as she coaxes herself to climax, and Frank’s starting to think he might actually go insane if he keeps watching and can’t touch her, can’t help her come. So he makes himself tear his eyes from her and focus them elsewhere – but the instant he does, Laurel notices.

“Don’t look away,” she orders, panting. “Watch me. Watch me.  _Taste_ me.”

Gulping, Frank looks at her again, and finds Laurel holding out three fingers to him, so wet and sticky with her juices that they drip down onto the sheets. She doesn’t have to ask twice; in the blink of an eye, Frank leans forward and takes them into his mouth, sucking greedily. He’s desperate for any bit of her he can get. He’d beg on his knees like a dog to touch her. He’s about to now, as a matter of fact.

He hums lowly around her fingers, lapping up the undeniable taste of her; a taste no five-star chef in the world can even come close to replicating. His mouth waters, and his cock starts to positively  _leak_  as he licks the digits clean of every last drop of her he can get – and it’s something, a taste, but it’s not enough.

After a moment Laurel pulls back, eyes hazy, and moves her hand down south again, slipping it between her splayed thighs and quickening her pace tenfold, her fingers lubricated even more now by his saliva. It’s obscene, watching her touch herself in such a frenzied, frantic manner, like if she doesn’t come soon she’ll  _die_. Obscene, and arousing almost to the point of insanity.  

“Are you hard for me?” she whimpers. “Do you – do you… want me?”

How the hell could he not? Frank groans, leaning in closer to press his lips to her neck. “Yes. Fucking  _yes_ , baby.”

Baby. He doesn’t usually call her that –  _babe_ , yes, not  _baby_. But everything feels different tonight, and they’re playing parts, following a script she’s written, yet somehow it feels like they aren’t, like this is so real, the realest thing he’s ever felt. All his senses are violently awake, heightened. His mind is in a state of simultaneous chaos and total clarity as he watches her.

Licking her lips, Laurel reaches one hand over and places it on his groin, palming his erection over his slacks. She squeezes him gently, and he actually moans aloud, even that tiny, brief touch enough to leave him teetering on the edge. Whatever she’d been trying to find out, Laurel seems satisfied, and so, much to his chagrin, she pulls her little hand away, returning it back between her legs.  

“God, i-it feels so good,” Laurel mewls. “Not as good as your hands. Not as good as you… not as good-”

“Fuck, baby, please,” he begs, closing his lips around her nipple and sucking hard. “Let me help you.”

But Laurel shakes her head stubbornly, just like he’d known she would. “Uh uh. I’m a big girl. Don’t… don’t need you –  _ah_!”

She’s getting close, he can tell. The words die on her tongue, and she fucks herself faster, and the only sound he can hear is the sound of her walls suctioning wetly around her fingers, pulling them in. Laurel loses herself in the pleasure, and forgets to push him away when he continues to suckle at her breast, swirling his tongue around the hardened nipple, doing what little he can to help drive her to climax – when he wants to badly to do it himself, with his own hands, not  _hers_.

But she won’t let him. He would touch himself now that she’s not paying him much attention, try to find some of his own release, but he can’t do that, either. He can only watch. That’s what she’d told him to do, after all – and he won’t disobey.  _Can’t_ disobey.

“Close,” she whimpers urgently, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Close,  _close_ , I’m so close. It’s so good…”

All at once, the rhythm of her fingers breaks, and Laurel comes with a choked gasp, her body tensing as the cries spill from her lips, sounding like an erotic hymn; the most beautiful sound in the world. Her hips buck, and her body tenses as she rubs herself through it, throwing her head back and making a show of her orgasm for him, as if to make it abundantly clear that she  _doesn’t_ , in fact, need him to get off at all.

Her dark tresses spill across the pillow, her pale breasts rising and falling rapidly. The sound – and fuck, the fucking  _sight_  – of Laurel making herself come is almost enough to make him lose it too, but he doesn’t. It’s like his own body is on her side tonight, hell-bent on keeping him on the edge, tormenting him. He feels like he hasn’t come in years. He can’t remember what it feels like  _not_ to be hard.

As she comes down from her high, Laurel relaxes, humming softly and making peaceful little contented sounds that almost lead him to believe she’s going to fall asleep. Her eyes nearly close, and her breathing evens out until it’s deep, steady.

Frank almost believes she’s going to fall asleep. But he should know better than to think she’s done playing with him yet.

Suddenly, like a feline, Laurel pounces. She grabs him by the lapels of his suit jacket, and he’s so shocked that he doesn’t resist when she urges him onto his back, clambering atop him, straddling him. For one blessed moment he thinks she’s going to undo his belt and zipper and free his cock at last, but all Laurel does is sink down onto his thigh and grind against it instead, back and forth, chasing her pleasure while giving none to him – no, just  _killing_  him even more.

“More,” she hisses, and reaches down to stroke her clit once more, in time with each swift delving of her hips. “More, more, more, daddy – oh  _God_ -”

His hands go for her hips. Frank gulps, powerless to do anything but watch her as she grinds against his leg. He can feel a warm spot forming on his slacks where her wetness has seeped into the fabric, staining him. His cock is screaming for attention, about to burst. He can’t handle this –  _her_. He’s going to come in his pants like a teenager, and there’s nothing he can do to stop himself. Maybe that’s what Laurel wants, but by now, he’s beyond caring, or embarrassment; he’s so pent-up and desperate that coming now will feel more like relief than actual pleasure.

She’s too much for him. He never thought he’d live to see the day he met a girl who was – but Laurel is, and the look of triumph on her face is enough to let him know that this  _is_  exactly what she’d wanted. He’d given it to her almost without realizing. Served himself up on a damn platter.

Abruptly, just when he’s about to start pleading with her to touch him, Laurel moves herself forward, lowering herself down onto his groin, directly above his cock. And when she starts grinding there instead, her wet heat so close, so close and so  _fucking far_  from where he needs it, he groans; a low, long, desperate sound he almost doesn’t recognize as his own.

“ _Fuck_ , Laurel, I’m gonna come.”

Laurel stops as soon as he opens his mouth. Stops grinding, stops moving entirely. She just looks at him, her mouth dropping open in feigned surprise and her eyes widening.

“Oh,” is all she says. Her voice lowers itself back to its normal pitch. The playful, girlish air about her –  _daddy’s girl_  – dissipates. “Well, then I better get going.”

 _What_?

Frank prays to God she’s kidding, but she isn’t. Already she’s dismounting him and crawling off the bed, limbs long and agile, disappearing into the next room to locate her discarded clothes. Head reeling, he watches dumbly as she returns, slipping them on beside the bed. His erection stands up large and dark in his slacks, cruelly unattended to.

If it’s humanly possible to die from blue balls, Frank’s pretty sure he’s about to expire, right here and now.

“No,” he growls, as she slides on her jeans. “Jesus, Laurel – get back over here  _now_ -”

Laurel blinks. “Why? What’s the matter?”

He could throttle her right now. He really could – that’s how fucking furious he is. Furious at her for teasing him, sure, but more furious at himself for falling for it, for letting her do those things to him so easily, with hardly any effort at all. All she’d had to do was lay down on his bed and put a hand between her legs, and he’d crumbled.

His voice is deep and menacing, scraping his throat roughly. He sounds powerful, yet at the same time he’s painfully aware of just how  _powerless_  he is.

“You  _know_ what’s the matter.”

“Well, it’s like you said,” Laurel replies easily, clearly having planned this conversation out ahead of time. “I should get to know you first, right?”

He clenches his jaw, blood boiling. “Laurel-”

“Goodnight,” she interrupts him, reaching for her coat and slipping it around her shoulders. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

Laurel leaves him with that, vanishing out the door. He considers following her, dragging her back to bed, blocking her way to the door – but he does none of those things. He just lays there like an idiot, paralyzed half from disbelief and half from fury. He’s never had anything like that happen before, never had a girl tease him so blatantly, so explicitly. He’s never had a girl lay down in his fucking bed and make a show of touching herself for him – Christ, he’s never seen anything remotely  _close_ to how hot that had been.

But then again, he’s never been with a girl quite like Laurel.

 

–

 

An hour later, after he’s showered and jacked off like some poor sap who can’t get laid, and gotten what miserable, empty release he can, he pulls out his phone to text her.

- _Where in the hell did that come from??_

Laurel doesn’t answer for a while. When she finally does, his hand darts out like lightning to grab his phone.  

- _Just an idea I had_

Frank finds himself at a loss for words for the millionth time tonight, but luckily, she texts him again before he has the chance to make himself look like even more of an idiot.

- _So. Who’s got blue balls now, daddy?_

He’s acutely aware of how screwed he is, right then. Not literally, of course, because Laurel had sure seen to that tonight – but the worst kind: figuratively, like bit by bit he’s been digging himself into a hole and only just realized how far down he is, beyond hope of ever climbing back out.

He’s dead fucking meat when it comes to her. He might as well accept it now.


End file.
